


I’ll kiss the sin in thy lips, o dear brother of mine

by Lumeriel



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gay Sex, M/M, Memories, Romeo and Juliet References, Rumors, Shakespeare's Fëanor's favorite, Sibling Incest, Silmarils
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-05-20 07:42:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19372276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumeriel/pseuds/Lumeriel
Summary: Like every year, during the Midwinter Festival, in Tirion, human art is 'glorified'. This year, the play that opens the Festival brings back memories to Fëanor. And to Fingolfin.Note: Fingon is a great actor. Or at least, that's what they say in Tirion.





	1. Chapter 1

When Fëanor arrived at the palace, the play was already advanced.

As every year, when Midwinter arrived, the Noldor met in Tirion to enjoy the fruits of human talent, imported from the overseas kingdoms by elven travelers. Fëanor himself had contributed to spreading human art among the Eldarin courts, bringing from his numerous journeys books, sculptures and magnificent paintings. So far, and following the prohibition of the Valar, no human artist had stepped on Valinor; but elves who had not traveled to Endor knew their jobs well enough. Maglor and Finrod had contributed by popularizing human music among the elves of Aman, although it was Fingon who best learned how much dance became fashionable in the human world.

What most surprised the Eldar was how fleeting were the fashions and artistic tendencies between the Second Born. Between one trip and another to Endor, the music of actuality could have changed so much as night to day. Haleth, Caranthir's wife and only human who so far received the gift of the Valar to live in Aman, had explained to his in-laws that for Men the time passed much faster: for an elf twenty years of the Sun meant nothing; but for a human, they constituted a third of their life. For example, Haleth’s family had disappeared altogether among Men, their blood and memory diluted in multiple marriages and generations; meanwhile, nothing had changed in Valinor: the same king sat at the foot of Taniquetil, the same king sat in the Mindon Eldalieva, the same king blessed the coasts of Alqualondë ...

 

Fëanor hurried across the gallery illuminated with jeweled lamps that colored the walls in a polychromatic way. He had hoped to arrive earlier; but as on so many other occasions, the work in the forge had distracted him until he only had time to take a hurried bath and gallop to the palace. As he took the last few meters to the double-leaf gate, the Crown Prince smiled mockingly, imagining the disapproving look Indis would give him when he saw him arrive so late and Fingolfin's arched eyebrow as soon as he perceived his arrival. And of course Fingolfin would be the first to notice his arrival, Fëanor chuckled at the moment when an usher opened the door and let him pass with a bow.

Fëanor slipped into the living room, moving carefully to skirt the rows of benches arranged in front of the stage. His gaze drifted to the stage and he saw Finrod dressed in the human fashion of two hundred years ago from the Sun.

_"This, by his voice, should be to Montague."_ Recite Finarfin's firstborn at that moment and turning to the teenager behind him, added: _"Fetch me my rapier, boy. What, dares the slave come hither, cover'd with an antic face, to fleer and scorn at our solemnity? Now, by the stock and honour of my kin, to strike him dead I hold it not a sin. "*_

 

Fëanor almost stopped, immediately recognizing the play acted. A smile formed on his lips as he turned to look for his half-brother.

As always, Fingolfin occupied the seat to the left of Queen Indis. His hair was combed in fine braids stuck to his skull, drawing complicated patterns, and whose tips were sealed by turquoise and silver beads. His clothes were the epitome of elegance and fashion in Tirion: a combination of royal blue and black soberly highlighted by silver embroidery. One ear was adorned with a network of rings and chains that tinkled musically whenever he leaned over to tend to his mother; the other ear barely wore a blue feather fixed to a silver bead in the lobe.

As if Fëanor's silver eyes were fixed on him, Finwë's second son looked up from his mother's hands, which showed him something and met his half-brother’s gaze. Fëanor smiled more widely and made a slight gesture with his head towards the stage.

Fingolfin did not look away; but his cheekbones darkened slightly, highlighting the silver blue glow of his slightly slanted eyes.

Indis noticed that her eldest son was not paying attention to her and turned her face to discover her stepson stopped at the back of the room, with a mischievous smile. Raising a golden eyebrow, the queen barely squeezed her peach-colored lips and leaned toward her husband. Immediately, Finwë stopped observing the play to look for his eldest son with his eyes and make an enthusiastic gesture, inviting him to go to his side.

Fëanor inclined his head in recognition and crossed the audience to reach the king.

To the right of the High King it remained without occupying an armchair of high endorsement and Finwë patted the arm of the seat, cheerfully.

"I thought you would not arrive on time," said Finwë as soon as his eldest son occupied the chair. "You've missed the whole start; but you're on time to see the best of the kids.”  
"Finrod is doing very well," admitted Fëanor, commenting internally that Finarfin's son had received the character that least resembled him: nothing could be further from the sweet Finrod than the quarrelsome Tybalt. "Who is Juliet?"  
"Don’t you know?" Finwë was surprised, blinking in his direction.  
"I wasn’t following closely the organization of this Festival, father," he acknowledged with feigned contrition.  
"Oh! Better this way, "laughed Finwë, giving the impression to his son that he was about to clap for joy.

Fëanor raised his left eyebrow at his enthusiasm and looked away to try to get answers from his stepmother. Indis had returned to concentrate on the scene and her celestial eyes flashed excitedly; which only increased the intrigue of the Crown Prince. Before Fëanor managed to attract Fingolfin's attention in the absence of the Queen's, a voice interrupted the course of his thoughts.

 

_“If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.”*_

 

Fëanor turned in front of the stage to discover the tall figure of Maedhros leaning towards his co-star. So Maedhros was Romeo! Well, that only left an option for Juliet, Fëanor almost smiled.

Although customs among humans had changed almost a century ago and women were already allowed to perform in the theater, elves conformed to the prevailing traditions in which each work was released. Elf stuff.

 

_“Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this; for saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss”*_ , Fingon responded, modulating his always jovial voice to perfectly imitate the timid whisper of a maid.

 

The heat spilled from Fëanor's stomach to his chest in an unstoppable wave.

Fingon was a true vision. The black curls accentuated the grace of his still youthful face and the discreet makeup made the beautiful eyes more remarkable - the same eyes of Fingolfin. The dress combined blue and silver, as well as Maedhros' clothes were red and gold, copying the liveries of Finwë's eldest sons. But Fëanor hardly took note of the allusion to the alleged enmity between the two branches of the Royal Family: looking through the figure of his nephew, the craftsman recalled the first time this play was represented in the Court of Tirion, almost two hundred years ago.

Also on that occasion, Juliet had been played by a young boy dressed in blue and silver finery, hair like a crow's wing combed in thick curls, cheeks darkened by shyness ... and memories.

Fingon and Maedhros said their lines with the professionalism of the human artists that Fëanor had occasion to see during his visits to Endor. Neither of them bothered to disguise the attraction between them, protected by the development of the characters they represented.

_“Then move not while my prayer's effect I take. Thus from my lips, by thine my sin is purg'd.”*_

Maedhros leaned down to brush his pink cousin's mouth and Fëanor held his breath. Immediately, he looked away to where Fingolfin was sitting.

The craftsman remembered that afternoon some time ago - reciting those same lines for the sake of his half-brother, also bending to kiss a shy mouth, lingering more than morally correct in 'purging his sin'.

_“Then have my lips the sin that they have took.”*_

Fingon spoke with the soft coquetry of a nubile girl.

Fingolfin, on the other hand, had stuttered to recite the words, his cheeks flushed and his lips damp.

_“Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urg'd! Give me my sin again.”*_

Fëanor barely heard the hoarse voice with which Maedhros recited his dialogue. In his mind, he was relishing that moment when he again bent down in search of Fingolfin's lips.

Fëanor's gaze was now fixed on that same mouth. How many times had he kissed those lips since that afternoon? How many times had he slipped his tongue between those parted lips, to play with the tongue that came to meet his? How many times had he purged sin in that mouth - a sin he could not, want not to redeem himself?

Fingolfin was attentive to the play, bending over to Anairë to comment on something that made his wife smile when Juliet's nurse appeared on stage. Fëanor followed with anxious eyes the movements of Fingolfin's lips near Anairë’s ear adorned by a cluster of golden pearls.

As if he felt the gaze trailing like a caress of fire, Indis's son looked around the audience before focusing on his half-brother. A flash of silver crossed his blue eyes and Fëanor knew that he had interpreted his expression with total clarity. Fingolfin narrowed his eyelids and tilted his head imperceptibly over one shoulder.

 

_Be careful._

 

The words slipped into Fëanor's mind like a light caress, passionate in its very softness, unleashing a shudder of desire.

_Findekáno is less shy than you_ , Fëanor pointed out, provoking him.  
_He has years of experience over me_ , Fingolfin replied. _Be more discreet. Everyone is watching you lately._  
_And you, Grand Prince of Tirion_ , Fëanor mocked.

Fingolfin's mouth twisted slightly in the left corner and his older brother saw him close his right hand slowly, like a hand fan, finger by finger.

_You are still more beautiful than your son_ , declared Fëanor before Fingolfin responded to his provocation. _Do you still have the dress you wore that time? I would like to see you wearing it again._  
_Don’t be ridiculous. The waist will possibly fit on my thigh._  
_True_ , admitted the older, disillusioned. _I'll have to buy you a dress for your anniversary._  
_Why the hell would you buy me a dress?_  
_Because I'd love to take it from you. It's been years since you wore a dress for me to take it off._  
_I used it for the play. And you did not take it from me: you destroyed it._  
_Just a little_ , acknowledged Fëanor, malicious.

Fingolfin raised an eyebrow, making it clear that he did not share his opinion.

Oblivious to them, the play continued: Tybalt stabbed Mercucio - that is, Finrod stabbed Maglor - and Romeo killed Tybalt - a unanimous exclamation escaped the lips of the female audience when Finrod collapsed dead.

_It's my favorite play, you know?_

Fingolfin blinked slowly before meeting his half-brother’s gaze.

_You have never participated in a staging_ , he commented without emotion.  
_Would you have been my Juliet, Nolvo?_  
_I'm not?_ Fingolfin replied, blushing in spite of himself.

Fëanor held his breath as desire clogged his throat. Without a doubt, Fingolfin was beautiful - the most beautiful elf he ever had in his bed -; but more than his beauty, it was that quiet admission of his feelings what really ignited Fëanor's passion. Fingolfin had never tried to deny what he felt for him: even when, for the good of the whole family, they had agreed to be as inconspicuous as possible, Fingolfin had accepted his fate from the first moment.

_“Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day. It was the nightingale, and not the lark, that pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear. Nightly she sings on yond pomegranate tree. Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.” *_

Fëanor half-laughed when he heard Fingon: then, as soon as their romance began, Fingolfin used Juliet's parliaments to beg him for a few more minutes of company.

_“Yond light is not daylight; I know it, I. It is some meteor that the sun exhales to be to thee this night a torchbearer and light thee on the way to Mantua. Therefore stay yet; thou need'st not to be gone.” *_

It was easy to imagine Fingolfin now as he had been years ago - naked in the flickering light of dawn, clinging to his body, intertwining his fingers behind the back of Fëanor's neck, murmuring those same words against his lips ... then pleading with him to return to bed and I made love to him once more.

 

Fëanor shifted in his seat, sighing inwardly for the end of the work. Barely two days ago he had received his half-brother in the hut that once was his explorer's refuge (the same cabin where Curufin and Aredhel pronounced their vows a year ago, where Celegorm and Orodreth spent their honeymoon, where so many memories of the family were treasured) and had satiated the hunger of his body. At least for a few hours. Fëanor was aware that his passion for Fingolfin bordered on addiction: ever since that trial in which his lips had touched for the first time, Míriel's son had discovered that there was no better taste than that of his half-brother. After the premiere of the play before the court - in which Fingolfin achieved a resounding success between the two sexes - Fëanor had lacked time to tear off the silk and velvet garments and devour that body he had been dreaming for weeks.

 

Two days. Only two days had elapsed since they had lain in front of the fire, naked and sweaty, sharing languid kisses after marking the other's skin with nails and teeth. Two days. How could he have survived two days without touching him, without savoring him, without breathing him?

_“Forgive me, cousin. Ah, dear Juliet, Why art thou yet so fair? Shall I believe that unsubstantial Death is amorous, and that the lean abhorred monster keeps thee here in dark to be his paramour? For fear of that I still will stay with thee and never from this palace of dim night depart again. Here, here will I remain with worms that are thy chambermaids. O, here will I set up my everlasting rest and shake the yoke of inauspicious stars from this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace! And, lips, O you the doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss a dateless bargain to engrossing death! Come, bitter conduct; come, unsavoury guide! Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on the dashing rocks thy seasick weary bark! Here's to my love!” *_

Fëanor frowned, shaken from his reveries for a moment: an oppressive foreboding weighed on his chest watching Maedhros rush the imaginary content of a preciously chiselled jar and then brush against Fingon's lips before collapsing beside him.

_It is a play. ___

__Fingolfin's voice mingled in his thoughts again. Fëanor turned to look at him, distracting himself in the curve of his chin, in the sensual weight of his full lower lip - that lip that Fëanor had bitten in his hours of passion until it bled ..._ _

_“Yea, noise? Then I'll be brief. O happy dagger!”*_

__Fingon grabbed the dagger from Maedhros's belt and held it up so that the light of the lamps bathed the golden leaf._ _

_“This is thy sheath; there rest, and let me die.” *_

__There was an exclamation of horror among the audience and several sobs were heard. Fëanor almost smiled, telling himself that no matter how many times they saw it, the Noldor still reacted viscerally to 'Romeo and Juliet'. On this occasion, Fingon had also exceeded everyone's expectations: it was as if the boy had been born to be Juliet. Fëanor chuckled, thinking that this dead heroine was actually Tirion's best sportsman and one of Aman's most coveted bachelors._ _

__While Montague and Capulet regretted the enmity that caused the death of their children, Fëanor got up and said goodbye to his father, kissing him on the cheek. As he passed behind Fingolfin's seat, the Crown Prince brushed the tips of his braids with his fingers, causing a shudder in the younger._ _


	2. Chapter 2

The play had been a success once again. Each Midwinter Festival, young people went out of their way to be chosen to be part of the cast that would represent a human play.

Fingolfin remembered his excitement when he was chosen to play Juliet. He had barely reached his majority two years before, so at that time he still retained the adolescent grace and gentleness of the Eldarin infants. He also remembered the essays in which Fëanor agreed to help him and how to that first scene in which they kissed would continue more hours dedicated to kisses and forbidden caresses than to memorize the text. How he managed to learn the script was still a mystery to himself: he spent more time enmeshed in the muscular arms of Fëanor, wiggling anxiously against his hips, devouring his mouth, gasping as he was explored by calloused hands and burning lips.

Fingolfin remembered having wished that the play never premiered, fearing that with the end of the rehearsals that delicious intimacy would end between them. But after the play was performed, only the passion remained unchanged. Fëanor kept coming back for more - even when Nerdanel announced her sixth pregnancy, even when Fingolfin announced his commitment to Anairë, even when Fingon was born ... Turgon ... Aredhel ... Fëanor always returned. And Fingolfin did not complain.

No, of course he did not complain. Rather, he gave thanks to everything divine for remaining the object of the desire of his half-brother - the brother he had worshiped as a child, admired as a student, desired as a teenager battered by hormones, loved as an adult divided between morals and lust. And yet, even knowing that the relationship between them would never be approved by the world, Fingolfin did not find in himself the strength to renounce Fëanor. He preferred a thousand times to be condemned to the hell that humans claimed to be the destiny of the worst criminals to renounce the kisses, the caresses, the love of Fëanor.

 

Lost in his thoughts, Fingolfin did not notice the footsteps coming from a side corridor. He was startled when a hand closed around his wrist and was then pushed against the wall, before a mouth covered his in hastiness.

For a few eternal minutes, Fingolfin only responded to the kiss with equal fierceness, clinging with his free hand to the red and black tunic, pulling on the other when they had to step aside to take a breath.

With his eyes closed, Indis's son buried his hands in thick mane and threw his head back to offer the throat to the teeth that scraped his pulse, counting the accelerated heartbeats. Nimble fingers groped for the sapphire clasp that closed the V-shaped collar of the top tunic, making it jump. Fingolfin gasped as the other's hand slipped under the lapel to caress a nipple through the linen shirt. His companion rose quickly to devour the sounds that emerged from his lips with a voracious kiss. While kissing him, the other did not stop exploring his torso, rubbing the nipples with two fingers before taking one and pulling gently.

"Fuck," Fingolfin mumbled against his partner's lips and twitching his fingers in his hair, forcing him to pull away while opening his eyes with effort.

Both Finwë's children looked at each other pantingly.

Fëanor bent to bite the lower lip of his half-brother, who let him do it until a hand slid down his abdomen to delineate the waistband of his pants.

"Not here," said Fingolfin, pushing his older brother away. "Not here, Curufinwë. We're -There's a lot ...”  
"Come."

Fëanor did not wait for him to end: taking him by one hand, he led him along the corridor to a room.

Fingolfin knew that chamber very well. From the first time Fëanor made love to him, a month had not passed without he spending at least one night in that room.

He had succumbed to passion in every corner of that alcove, admitted the High Prince as he turned to abandon himself in the arms of his older brother. As always, Fëanor's kisses were anxious and voracious at the beginning, a storm of tongue and teeth spilling on his face, his neck, his shoulders ... while the hands struggled with the gala clothes to make them aside.

Fingolfin was always surprised at the older elf's passion: it was not that he wasn’t able to match it; what exalted his bewilderment was the fact of provoking such a reaction in Fëanor after so many years.

As if seeking to confirm his thoughts, Fëanor let go the ties of the embroidered hose and fell to his knees in front of Fingolfin to slide the garment down his firm thighs. For a moment, the Crown Prince stopped, contemplating with eyes clouded with desire the rigid sex that stood before his face. Slowly, he parted his lips and, resting his palms on the younger's hips, brushed the tip of the cock with his breath. A low sigh resounded above him and Fëanor opened his mouth wider to touch the warm flesh with his tongue.

Fingolfin dug his fingers into the hair of the elf at his feet, closing his eyes as he sighed in silence: moist heat enveloped his manhood, devouring, licking, pressing. With an effort, the son of Indis forced himself to remain motionless, breathing through parted lips every time Fëanor swallowed his sex to the base. The hands on his hips moved slowly until they covered the buttocks and opened them gently. Fingolfin flinched as he felt his intimate entrance exposed: almost immediately, a finger brushed the tight hole delicately.

Fëanor took his time to fully savor the cock that was already oozing pre-cum. At the same time, he caressed the sphincter, pushing slightly without penetrating with the tip of his index finger. Fingolfin allowed him to do as many other previous occasions. And Fëanor loved that: the abandonment with which his half-brother surrendered - without protest, without demands, without regrets. After a few minutes, Fëanor felt the pulses of sex against his throat and throwing his head back, let it go with a wet sound.

Fingolfin did not release his hands from Fëanor's hair when he stood up to kiss him softly. Only then did the eldest's finger find its way into the narrow channel.

Fingolfin arched backward, moaning in an inaudible way, spreading his legs wider, waving his lower part to get more of the penetration. Fëanor explored him calmly, adding a second finger ... a third ...

"You're always ready for me," Fëanor whispered, licking the curve of his lover's ear. "It's as if you were born for this." He nibbled on the lobe. "Just for this." He devoured the tip of his ear (the vanyarin trait of his half-brother). "Only for me."

Fingolfin responded by shuddering with desire and anticipation.

Fëanor kissed him hard before moving away and pushing him towards the bed.

Stumbling, Fingolfin got rid of the remaining clothes, kicking them on his way to the wide bed. When the prince dropped on his back among the many pillows, he could see that Fëanor had also undressed.

With clouded eyes, Fingolfin watched his brother, following every movement with which he approached. Fëanor was beautiful as a stalking panther: as he moved toward his prey, the muscles rippled beneath the tanned skin. Each gesture was a dangerous grace that fluttered butterflies in the other's stomach.

Fëanor stopped at Fingolfin's feet and, taking one, slowly licked his toes and then moved to his ankle. He ascended kissing and biting delicately the calf, the inside of the thigh, the groin ... Instinctively, Fingolfin had flexed the other leg and pressed it against the side of his brother: Fëanor continued to delight in the warm flesh near the testicles while sliding a hand to traverse the other thigh.

Fingolfin closed his eyes, dropping his head to the side. He let himself be carried away by the sensation of being caressed as if he were a human god to worship, by the sound of his lover's breathing, by the smell of sex and hunger floating in the bedroom. His breathing became labored when Fëanor ascended his belly, lingering in his navel.

_It would have been beautiful._

The hoarse voice, heavy with desire, crept into his mind naturally. Fëanor sounded in osanwë just as sensual as it was loud.

_What?_ Fingolfin forced himself to formulate, too busy breathing to concentrate on understanding any allusion of his brother.

_You. Pregnant with a son of mine._

Fingolfin laughed breathlessly, clinging to the sheets.

_Impossible, my brother._  
 _But it would have been beautiful, Nolvo. That you were the one who conceived my children. That you were the only ..._  
 _Is…? Is it what you think when you fill me with your seed, brother of my heart?_ , Fingolfin provoked, smiling, when he managed to formulate a coherent thought.

The wave of fire sent Fingolfin into a spiral of ecstasy and anguish, as if his soul could not assimilate for a moment the passion that the other gave him. The kiss with which Fëanor dominated his mouth was the only thing that kept him conscious of staying awake ... just before the pressure at his entrance was almost unbearable.

This time, Fingolfin dug his nails into his older brother's shoulders, forcing himself to open up to the slow invasion.

Fëanor advanced slowly, without stopping, propelling himself inside his lover until there was no space for a moan between their bodies. He stood there for a few seconds, reveling in the velvety heat that pulsed around his center.

Fingolfin breathed with effort, wanting to ignore the pain. Even if he prepared for hours, it was always an agony to receive Fëanor at the beginning. And Fingolfin loved that feeling of being open, split in two to the very center of his being: pain was irrefutable proof that he belonged to his brother, he belonged to Fëanor.

Fëanor leaned forward at last, an animal snarl forming on his chest. Groping, he found a pillow and put it under Fingolfin, adjusting him to penetrate better, deeper. And then, once again began the desperate dance of their bodies meeting, two uncontrollable forces colliding in the silence of the bedroom, only broken by moans and gasps.

It had always been this way: an unstoppable rise to glory - sometimes desperate, frantic; others slow, rhythmic, both delighting in the increasing pressure in temples and veins. But what was undeniable was that the two of them were destined to be one in this way.

Fire and stars. The fire of the beginning of the universe. The stars that populated the universe. The stars were born and died with fire. And the sex between them was always an agony and a rebirth.

Fëanor could feel the fire alive in his veins, feeding on every moan that left those reddened lips. He could feel the stars pulsing in Fingolfin's spirit, becoming supernovas spinning in and around them.

_A little more._

Fingolfin's plea filled his mind. A little more. Fëanor knew what he was asking, had known from the first time what his younger brother wanted - that agony on the very edge, the tension that tightened his heart to stop the heartbeat, the helplessness of not arriving ... not arriving ... and then ...

The outbreak of Fingolfin was like the world wobbled. Fëanor froze for a moment, even holding his breath, while the semen generously christened their bellies and their breasts. And the moan - that moan that left Fingolfin’s wet lips, half howl half sob, a song ancient like the world, sensually animal ... It was that moan that unleashed Fëanor's orgasm.

 

When Fëanor opened his eyes again, he rested his forehead on Fingolfin's shoulder. His whole body was still shaking and his breathing was still agitated. Only his spirit was calm: like every time after making love with Fingolfin, the fire in his soul calmed down to be a comforting, generous warmth.

He raised his face to observe his half-brother. Fingolfin lay with his eyes closed, a slight perspiration covering his skin and the roots of his hair. Fëanor watched him for a few seconds, comparing this elf he loved now with the babbling young who looked at him with eyes littered with stars.

Feeling the intense look, Fingolfin stirred and raised his eyelids edged by curled lashes. Fëanor swallowed, losing himself in the silver flashes in the cobalt blue.

"You should sleep," suggested Fingolfin. "There are still several days of Festival and you need ..."  
"Have strength for the nights to come?", Raised an eyebrow. "Are you going to spend all of them with me?"  
"We need to be discreet, nárya," he reminded him gently, raising a hand to delineate his left ear. "There are too many guests in the palace and the rumors -There are already several rumors about us."  
"I don’t care about the rumors," declared Fëanor with a low growl.  
"Father does."

Fëanor roared under his breath and rolled away from Fingolfin to lie on his back.

Yes, of course Finwë was worried about the rumors. Although in recent years the story of a growing enmity among the King's eldest sons had spread, for a long time the commentary had gone in another direction, questioning the closeness between them - that it was more of lovers than of brothers.

"One day we will stop hiding," he muttered more to himself than to his companion.

Fingolfin turned on his side and extended a hand to rest it on his half-brother’s heart.

"We could leave," he suggested very quietly. "To Endor. There nobody knows us. Nobody cares…"

Fëanor pounced on him. Grabbing him by the cheeks, he kissed him hungrily, devouring him, biting and mooing around his tongue. Immediately, Fingolfin's hands roamed his back, scratching and drawing, leaving red furrows, traces of need.

They moved away to take a breath, panting chest to chest, imprisoned one in the other's gaze.

"Fëanáro!"

 

Fëanor frowned, turning to look over his shoulder.

Nerdanel was in the middle of the room. Her gaze descended from the glowing face of the father of her children to the other elf on the bed and an expression of absolute shock shook her features.


	3. Chapter 3

"What the hell is happening here?"

Nerdanel's squeal cut through the air.

The sculptress's green eyes went from one to the other of the men, expressing bewilderment and horror at the same time.

Fëanor was the first to move. He pulled away from Fingolfin and rolled onto his side to sit on the bed.

"What are you doing here, Nerdanel?" He demanded as he stood up and looked for something to cover his nakedness with.  
"What am I doing here?" She repeated, incredulously. "What am I doing here, Fëanáro? Is that the answer I deserve? For all the Valar, Fëanáro! I knew you had a lover; but this ... this is ... "  
"Take care of your words, woman!" Roared the craftsman, turning in front of her. "You don’t care who my lover is."  
"Your brother! Your own brother! "

Nerdanel stared at him with her mouth ajar, wondering if Fëanor could not see how bad it was. Her gaze drifted to the elf sitting among the pillows.

The braids had loosened during intercourse and the black curls clung to shoulders and chest to Fingolfin's waist.

Nerdanel saw the nail and tooth marks on the pale skin, the bruises where Fëanor's hands pressed too hard. Not all the marks were recent and the female felt her breast tighten with a terrible suspicion.

"Since when?"

Fëanor had grabbed a hopalanda and was still looking where the hell his pants were. When he heard Nerdanel's question, he stood in front of her, watching her with a frown.

"Since when?" She repeated, motioning to Fingolfin. "Since when do you cheat on me?"

Fëanor followed the direction of her gesture and let out a hiss. He jumped in the direction of the bed and grabbed the sheet, covered Fingolfin as if he were a child. His silver eyes lingered for a second on the expressionless face of the youngest, who kept his eyes fixed on Nerdanel and raised a hand, brushing his shoulder. Fingolfin shuddered; but he did not turn to look at him.

"Oh Elentári!" Gasped Mahtan's daughter, covering her mouth with one hand. "They were right. Everyone was right. The relationship between you two ... How could I be so blind? All those hours ... all that time dedicated to 'teach' him the rudiments of the smithy ... Oh gods, Fëanáro! Do you have any idea what you have done? Do you have any idea what this means for everyone? Our children! Me!"  
"You what?" Raised Fëanor's eyebrows. "What about my children? They have nothing to do with my life ... "  
"You're fucking your own brother, Fëanáro!" Nerdanel yelled. "How can that not matter? Do you think that nobody will have anything to say? Am I supposed to stay like that? Seeing how you cheat on me with your brother? You cheated on me for years with him! All this time I ... "  
"Nerdanel, my dear, I've been looking for you everywhere," Anairë sighed with relief, hurrying through the doorway.

The drawstring of her dressing gown almost loosened and her hair pulled back in a twisted bun she held with two wooden hairpins revealed that Fingolfin's wife was getting ready for bed. Without stopping to justify her presence there, Anairë went to her friend and grabbed her by a forearm to pull her towards the door.

"Anairë ...” began to say Nerdanel, frowning as she struggled to free herself.  
"Dear, it's late and tomorrow a long day of dancing and receptions awaits us. Also, you have that exhibition ... " the brunette reminded him without releasing her. Despite her delicate appearance, Anairë possessed the elegant strength common to the Noldor. "Come with me and let's rest, please."  
"But do not you see what's going on here?" The redhead shouted again, forcing her to stop.

Anairë turned her face to look at her with a calm expression. For the first time, her gray eyes traveled to Fëanor - whose open hopalanda showed his magnificent nudity - and then to Fingolfin - covered to the waist by the sheet. The female held her husband's expressionless gaze for a few seconds and returned to focus on Nerdanel, she said, with a smile:

"You need to rest and calm down a bit. We are attracting too much attention right now, dear friend. "

Without waiting for another protest, she forced her to follow her, closing the door behind them.

As soon as the two females came out, Fëanor threw himself at the door and passed the bolt, cursing under his breath.

"What the hell," he hissed through his teeth, going to a credence to serve a glass of wine and empty it with a bang. "That damn crazy girl. How the hell did he know I was here? "  
"These are your rooms. Where else would you be? "

Fëanor turned to find the icy look on his half-brother’s face. Fingolfin was still in the same position - sitting between the pillows, his back straight, the sheet to his hips - and when Fëanor looked at him, he held his gaze for a moment before diverting his attention to the closed door.

"Luckily, Anairë took charge," the elder continued, filling the glass. He took a drink before returning to the bed and sitting on his side, leaning on one elbow. "I'm going to talk to Nelyo about his mother later. She can’t be chasing me everywhere and breaking into my room. You're lucky Anairë is ... "

He stopped, remembering that years ago Fingolfin's engagement had only caused him an access of rage followed by a deep depression that made him lock himself in the forge for weeks. He took another sip of wine and handed the glass to his half-brother.

Fingolfin gave him a sidelong glance and pulling the sheet aside, slid his legs out of the bed.

"Where are you going?", Raised Fëanor's eyebrows.  
"It is better to return to my own rooms. The screams of Nerdanel may have awakened some guests and there is no need to feed the gossip of the servants. "

Fingolfin spoke calmly as he stood up and searched for his clothes.

Fëanor kept his eyes fixed on the firm, round ass, brushed by the ends of his jet-black hair. The image aroused his desire once more. Feeling his cock shake, he sat up and emptied the glass in one gulp to leave the bed and go to his brother.

Indis's son tensed when Fëanor's calloused hands rested on his hips. He did not move, holding his clothes between his fingers while his brother drew slow circles on his skin. He squinted when the warm breath brushed his neck and for a moment, he leaned against his older brother's chest, abandoning himself in the caresses. Only when he felt the swollen shaft pressing between his buttocks did Fingolfin straighten up, moving away from his lover's arms.

"Enough for today," he declared hoarsely. "We must be careful."

Fëanor squeezed his jaws as his hands trapped only emptiness: Fingolfin had slipped out of his grip like a cat.

"There are still hours for people to wake up," he commented with effort. "Nobody else will bother us ..."

Fingolfin did not respond. Without turning around in front of him, he put on his hose and picked up the shirt from the floor. Throwing his hair over one shoulder, he pulled the garment over his head and seated it with one hand while looking for his tunic.

"We have many more hours," insisted Fëanor following him with eyes bright with passion. "Stay with me until dawn. It's been years since you slept here ... "

Neither this time the minor gave an answer. He put on his velvet boots and picked up his tunic.

"Nolofinwë!"

Finally, the Grand Prince turned his head over his shoulder and watched him with cold eyes, in which the silver that once fascinated the older elf barely flashed.

Fëanor was breathing heavily and extending a hand in the direction of his brother, roared through clenched teeth.

"If you leave this room now, I'll go after you. I will go to your rooms and everyone will know what the relationship between us is.”  
"Don’t be ridiculous," sighed Fingolfin. "Do you want Father to collapse?"  
"Fuck father and the damned rumors! I'm sick of so much shit! I want you to stay with me. Not tonight or during the Festival. I want you to stay with me…"  
"Lower your voice," suggested Fingolfin, unalterable. "A scandal is more than enough for today. And no, I'm not going to stay here. And you will not follow me. I'm sure your wife's cries have aroused the curiosity of more than one. "  
"Does that matter?" Fëanor asked, snorting.  
"It's better if we keep ... a low profile for a few days. For the good of all."  
"How?"  
"It would be better if we don’t meet this way. For a while. It will be the best for everyone, Curufinwë, " he declared calmly.

Fëanor studied the calm expression of his half-brother and an idea flashed in his mind.

"Of course," he laughed, angry. "It is best that we maintain distance, that we protect our image ... your image, O Grand Prince of Tirion. It's that, isn’t it? The scandal. The rumors. Your precious image of a perfect prince. "

Fingolfin stared at him motionless, his head tilted slightly over one shoulder.

"You have to take care of your image, naturally," continued Fëanor smiling sarcastically. "There is nothing as important as your position. You cannot allow a scandal like this to touch you. What would everyone say? The Grand Prince being fucked by his own brother? How awful! What an aberration! What…!"  
"Good evening, Curufinwë," interrupted Fingolfin and started toward the door.  
"If you go out that door, you can forget about this, Nolofinwë!" He threatened, pointing a finger at him. "If you leave now, I will not ..."

The door closed on Fingolfin's back, silently.

Fëanor roared at full blast. He threw the glass in his hand against the wall while screaming helplessly.

"Damn you, Nolofinwë!" He howled, turning on himself.

Going to the credence, he grabbed the wine bottle and threw it at the wall. The tray and the other glasses continued, crashing against the wall between the curses uttered by the Crown Prince.

Fëanor stopped at last, panting heavily.

"Damn you, fucking brat," he whispered, feeling the sting of tears.


	4. Chapter 4

Anairë entered the cabinet next to her bedroom and went to the small table next to the easel.

"A tea, my dear?" She asked before turning to see Nerdanel pacing from side to side.

The sculptress wrung her hands, muttering under her breath. Her cheeks were red, contrasting with the lividity of her lips.  
Anairë made a face and turned her attention to the credence to serve two glasses of liquor.

"Sit down, Nerdanel," she suggested with a sigh. "You make me nervous by moving like that."  
"Sit down?" The craftswoman frowned, facing her. "Are you mad, Anairë?"  
"I don `t believe so. It's you who seems a bit upset. Take: drink a little and so you calm down so we can talk. "  
"Talk about what, in the name of Aulë? Why are not we running to the High King's chambers to tell him ...? "  
"I am convinced that my mother-in-law would not be grateful if we woke her up at this time to try such a ... thorny topic, dear friend. And, since we are talking about this, can you explain to me what you do in this wing of the palace? It's been over a year since you and Fëanor split up, right? "  
"Do you think Indis would not appreciate knowing about such ... aberration? Her son is having sex with his own brother, Anairë! Don’t you see how frightening this situation is? Don’t you see how bad it is? How can you be so calm after seeing the same as me? "

Nerdanel frowned, studying the calm Anairë, who even crossed one leg over the other as she took small sips of her liquor.

"Did you see them having sex?" Fingolfin's wife inquired after a minute, curiously.  
"They were kissing! Naked! Fëanáro was -he was on top of -It was unpleasant! "She exclaimed, with a grimace of disgust.

Anairë raised a blackened eyebrow and made a mocking sound.

"We have different concepts of the word 'unpleasant', Nerdanel," she said slowly.

The sculptress blinked several times.

"You knew," he finally understood. "Since when…?"

"Mhn ... from before I married Arakáno. Do you remember how Fëanáro got by our engagement? Almost everyone believed that it was because Finwë had chosen his counselor's daughter for his second son. My brother-in-law was just worried about how marriage would affect his relationship with Arakáno. I don’t know what they talked about between them, okay? Fëanáro left the forge at last, came to the palace -and sought me out. He told me he was willing to accept me into the family ... as long as I knew that Nolofinwë did not belong to me, that he belonged to someone else. He made it clear that i only had two options: to accept the situation ... or forget about being the wife of the second prince of the Noldor. "A smile curved her lips, recalling her initial reaction to Fëanor's words. “I was shocked, honestly. Although I was not exactly a 'naive', it never occurred to me to believe the rumors about the two of them. That is, they are brothers, right? My first impression was to break the commitment: I didn’t want to mix in that madness. But in the following weeks, I devoted myself to observing them. And then I saw it. The passion. The hunger. The fire between them. I do not know how everyone don’t see it all: the way in which their eyes meet, in which their words complement each other even when they are supposed to argue, in which their bodies move as if they were united by threads of invisible energy. I saw Fëanáro hovering over Arakáno - always wistful, always insatiable, always ready to devour him - and I saw how Arakáno gave himself up - without bending over, without surrendering, matching his passion. I was curious. Curious about the male that provoked such passion in the greatest of our geniuses, curious about the passion that led the most perfect of our princes to break with morals and laws. I took the first option, as you can see, "Anairë concluded with a half-smile.  
"I cannot believe it," Nerdanel stammered, dropping at last into a chair.

Anairë stood up and approached her to put the cup in her hands.

"Drink, Nerdanel. I really don’t understand how you might have ignored it until now. " She shrugged, returning to her seat and crossing her legs again. "Everyone who matters knows."

Mahtan's daughter raised her glass to her lips and almost drowned.

"What do you mean?" She demanded. "Everyone who…?"  
"My children ... your children ... Arafinwë ... it is possible that Eärwen, although we have never discussed it ... Indis ... Finwë ... Even Master Rúmil: he is a regular guest at family gatherings."  
"Oh Eru! It's worse than I imagined. "  
"Worse, Nerdanel?" Fingolfin's wife blinked, disoriented. "They love each other, dear! They can’t avoid it. It is natural for those of us who are close to know and support them. In other words, it's enough to have to keep up appearances for the good of the Court and decency. Finwë demands that they behave and is very fussy about it ... "  
"But he let this happen! And Indis! How…?"  
"It was she who noticed it first. Well, any mother can guess when her almost teenage son is in love and I guess she did not have to look far to find the other lovebird, " she laughed, amused. Noticing Nerdanel's expression, she pouted. "Come on, dear! It's not so terrible once you think about it. "  
"Have ...?" Nerdanel licked her lips, not quite sure she wanted to formulate the doubt in her mind. "Have you shared ... the bed with ... them? With both?"  
"If what you are asking is whether I have slept with Fëanáro, the answer is no. First, and although I consider him a suffocating beauty, he's not exactly my type. " She made a mischievous grin before adding," My type is more elves who pretend not to break a plate and break all the crockery once the door is closed. In other words, don’t believe the image of Arakáno's ice prince. As for your question ... eh ... there was an occasion -after Findekáno’s birth -I was a bit discouraged about sex and Arakáno had the idea that we should experience. Fëanáro agreed and my curiosity awakened even more. "

Anairë took a slow drink from her glass, evoking the memories of that night. How many elves could claim to have seen the two most attractive elves of Tirion naked? And together! She could almost consider herself lucky.

What the hell!

She considered herself lucky.

"Did you regret it?" Asked Nerdanel, inevitably intrigued, cursing inwardly her morbid curiosity.  
"I ended up being a spectator of the best show in the world", raised an eyebrow Anairë. "Fëanáro is ... jealous of his most precious treasures. And Arakáno is included among his possessions. It was beautiful, really. Before that day, and even though he is a generous lover, I never imagined that Arakáno could ... burn like that. The way he moved while Fëanáro took him, the sounds that came from his lips, the brightness in his eyes when he looked at his brother ... it's not something that can simply be explained. And Fëanáro -I think nobody in the world has looked at another person the way he looked at Arakáno. And how he touched him. It was as if -as if he was worshiping him and at the same time he wanted to tear his skin, drink his very essence ... You would not understand. " She smiled, abstracted. "I have tried to paint them a million times. But there's no way I can capture that ... fire, that light in them. And they were wild. They were not from this world while they were making love. I realized that I could not stand it: I would have fainted before one of them tired, for Yavanna. And I knew how much my husband contained himself when he did it with me. I was so fascinated that it did not even occur to me to relieve myself while I watched them. Fëanáro made Arakáno come again and again, without giving him rest, until my beautiful husband almost lost consciousness of pleasure. And then, when they recovered their strength -oh my dear, you should have seen the proud 'Spirit of Fire' rising and falling on his half-brother’s cock. I swear I've never felt discouraged again when it comes to sex: those memories are enough and I'm all red-hot for whatever, " she finished with a laugh.

Nerdanel watched her with flushed cheeks.

"Are you crazy?" She snapped. "He’s your husband! And his brother! Is not it disgusting? "  
"You don’t know what you're saying." Anairë shook her head, condescending. "There's ... too much beauty in seeing two beings who love each other making love to think about ... moral issues. You would understand it if you had the opportunity to ... "  
"No!" Screamed the redhead. "I will never accept that Fëanor ...! May the elf with whom I married be this ... this pervert! This…!"  
"What do you care?" Anairë raised her eyebrows, bewildered.

Fingolfin's wife evoked the surge of surprise from her husband a while before, how she discovered Nerdanel's presence in Fëanor's bedroom. Fingolfin had been so stunned by his sister-in-law breaking into the private quarters of his half-brother that he had sent his impressions through the bond before he could contain himself. Anairë had seen the reaction of Nerdanel, the scandal ... the unexpected disappointment of Fingolfin to see the sculptress behaving as if she still...

"Nerdanel," Anairë began cautiously, giving voice to the doubts of her husband and friend; "What do you care who Fëanáro lies with? You’re officially separated more than a year ago; in practice, you take much longer without being a true marriage. What right do you have to feel ... offended? "

Nerdanel blinked several times, paling.


	5. Interlude

"Did you hear what they're saying?"

"That Princess Irissë is pregnant? It was to be expected: she spends all day from here to there with those cousins of hers. Wow, princes and everything was about time there were consequences ... "

"What are you talking about, Liruliniel? Irissë isn’t pregnant: that was just a lie that Laikammirë invented out of spite. Everyone knows that Curufinwë broke the commitment because Nolofinwë’s daughter ... "

"Curufinwë? But didn’t they say it was with Tyelkormo with whom they had surprised the princess ...? "

"I don’t know how you manage to always walk with old gossip when you live a hundred meters from the royal palace, woman. Who was Tyelkormo with was his cousin ... "

"Turukáno? Was not he engaged to that Vanyarin girl? "

"Artaresto, creature! The son of Arafinwë! Don’t you find out about anything? "

"It's that family is going to drive me crazy. First, Carnistir marries a human; later, it is not known if Maitimo and Findekáno are or are not ... "

"They are, dear; they are. Didn’t you see them in the play? It was all a success. Wonderful. And speaking of the play ... I was telling you that if you hadn’t heard what happened that day. That is, that night, after the play. "

"Did something else happen besides Findekáno being the best Juliet we've ever enjoyed?"

"Well, Nerdanel surprised her husband with his lover."

"Who? Who surprised whom? Wait ... Nerdanel and Fëanáro are still separated, right? "

"As far as I know, that's right. But that did not stop her from making a fuss when she found the Crown Prince in bed with his mistress. "

"In the bed? What a show! And who’s the lucky one'?"

 

.........................................

 

"As I tell you: Anairë herself."

"You’ll have to forgive me, Loralassë; but it’s hard to believe. With this hand’s fingers can be counted as many times as the Crown Prince has spoken to his sister-in-law ... "

"Precisely, woman! This is how the great passions are hidden. "

"Then, as they would have said, it was with the Vanya who was caught by Nerdanel."

"Oh, Aldawen, what nonsense you say. She's his father's wife, for Yavanna! "

"And Anairë is the wife of his brother."

"Half-brother. And those two don’t seem to get along very well, let's say. Especially since Nolofinwë received the title of Grand Prince of Tirion. "

"OK. I accept that very friends -they are not. But from there to Fëanáro sleeping with Anairë ...! Come on, I can’t believe it! "

"Well, my cousin told me that her sister-in-law told her that they saw Anairë leave the apartments of the Crown Prince with Nerdanel."

"And how does your cousin's sister-in-law know that?"

"Her sister is one of the maidens in the palace."

"And Nerdanel went so quiet with her husband's mistress. Something doesn’t fit in the story of your cousin, Loralassë. "

"From my cousin's sister-in-law, Aldawen. Now that you say it, Nerdanel is not exactly a cinnamon roll for ... "

 

............................................

"Well, I heard something else."

"Something else? What else? Speak, man, for Aulë’s beards of! "

"Mhn ... it was not with a girl Nerdanel surprised the prince with."

"Uh?"

"He's saying that Fëanáro was with a man, Haldacar. Don’t be an idiot."

"Ah, that."

"How about 'ah, that'? Did you already know? "

"It's old news that the prince plays on both sides, Angaher. Already in his early youth, word spread that he was having an affair with one of Olwë's sons. Nerdanel should not have been surprised at that. "

"But it was not with any man with whom she found him. It was with Tuilindo. "

"The godson of the Grand Prince?"

"That same one. As they say, the boy has been spending a lot of time in the forge and ... "

"Wait, wait ... the boy wasn’t in Alqualondë a week ago? How did he arrive for the Festival? Did he use an eagle? "

"Haldacar is right, Angaher. I think you've been ripped off with that story. "

"Oh yeah? So, how do you explain that it was Anairë who took Nerdanel and that, just a moment later, Nolofinwë himself left Fëanáro’s bedroom? Tell me!"

"Without Tuilindo."

"What?"

"I say that Nolofinwë left Fëanáro's bedroom without his godson."

"Eh yes."

"..."

"...?"

"...!"

"Pfiú, Haldacar, they’re brothers!"

"What do you say to me?"

"What a dirty mind you have, man!"

"I have a dirty mind? He is the one who’s fucking his brother! "

"That's what you say!"

..........................................

 

"Well, I don’t think it crazy."

"Ailiniel, they are brothers."

"Half-brothers. When we lived in Cuiviénen it happened from time to time. It wasn’t common, it's true; but from time to time siblings joined ... "

"We were wild at that time, my friend. Now we are talking about our two princes ... "

"Two perfectly capable adults with almost two hundred years of difference between them. Fëanáro and Nolofinwë have not been able to grow as brothers, Carnimírië. "

"It’s still…"

"Oh come on, my friend! Imagine it for a moment: those two boys, exquisite, full of virility and energy, facing each other, fighting to dominate the other, sweaty, agitated ... making the bed a battlefield ... "

"...! What are you saying, Ailiniel! One here worrying about the morality of our society and you ... "

"And I think that everyone is free to make a drum with their ... skin. Also, dear, deny me that it would be a delight to see those children * making the beast with two backs *. "

"You're impossible, Ailiniel!"

"Two wonderful backs, by the way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *...* from 'Othello', from Shakespeare. And with that phrase, I entered the world of erotic literature at the tender age of eight.


	6. 5

Another ball.

Fëanor pressed his lips together as he walked through the lobby decorated with lamps covered in tissue paper.

Fulfilling the instructions written on the back of the black and gold invitation, the Crown Prince dressed in human fashion. A burgundy-colored jacket fitted his waist, leaving the skirts loose until the knees and discovering the elaborate lace of the white front. The varnished boots closed around the firm calves, unadorned, on top of the black leggings. His hair was pulled back in a thick braid that surpassed his waist, and gold earrings adorned with rubies adorned his ears.

When arriving at the room in which the dance was celebrated, Fëanor looked around. The guests wore the most dissimilar wardrobe styles in human history: young men dressed in heavy togas could be seen conversing with ladies with striking dragons and phoenixes embroidered in the wide sleeves and straight skirts of their kimonos. Fëanor raised an eyebrow, doubting that so many different cultures and nations would ever coincide in a human party.

The music, moreover, was as diverse as the attire of the guests: as soon as the orchestra played a Vienna waltz from the 19th human century followed a minuet of two centuries before or engaged in an Indian dance, a gig or a contredanse.

Fëanor wondered what humans would think of this elven 'anxiety' to drink as much as possible of their cultures in just a week. For his part, all he wanted was for that week to end. He longed to return to Formenos and forget about the world enclosed in the forge. This had been, rightly so, the worst Midwinter Festival since ...

He hissed through his teeth, moving away from the door to go to the table with the drinks. After the night of theater, and of having threatened Fingolfin with not looking at him again if he left the room, Fëanor let two days pass without looking for his half-brother. Normally, two days was more than enough for Fingolfin - who liked to avoid conflicts - to reflect and be the first to fold the flags. However, when the third day ended without Fingolfin making any attempt to contact him, Fëanor began to get nervous. On the fourth day, by lunchtime, two messages had already been sent to Fingolfin's apartments: the first one did not find him there; the second was received by Fingon, who ordered the messenger to tell his uncle that he would talk to his father. For that night, Fëanor knew that Fingon had not succeeded either. The day before, and the fifth day of the Festival, Fëanor had forced the mental bond with Fingolfin so much that he ended up retiring in the middle of dinner with a headache: at all times he had crashed into a wall of ice and diamond, without his brother even shudder at the contact.

Fëanor was furious and desperate. He had never really believed that the possibility of scandal scared Fingolfin that much. At that point, he did not know whether to thank Nerdanel for giving him a chance to see how far Fingolfin's love was coming from ... or to curse her for making him see such a hard truth. What it was inevitable to confess was that he wanted so much to break his half-brother’s head as to throw himself on his knees before him and ask him to return.

Just then, the combination of turqui blue and silver attracted his attention. Fëanor turned his face, secretly wishing that one of his nephews had pass so close: he was still not ready to face Fingolfin without exploding.

By chance of life - or perhaps by how much they had in common -, Fingolfin also chose Victorian fashion to dress. In his case, the short jacket was carved to the high waist of the riding pants. The boots were closed above the knee, adorned on the outer side by silver buckles. The high, round neck of his jacket enhanced the elegance of the prince's chiseled features, who wore his hair combed in tight thin braids behind his temples while his abundant hair was picked up by a silver pin and sapphires at the back.

Anairë wore a tight corset dress and generous neckline that enhanced her voluptuous physique - especially when the twists of the dance caused the skirt of the dress to open to reveal the shapely legs covered in silk.

At that moment, a waltz sounded and Fëanor let his gaze follow the evolutions of the couple around the room. Fingolfin and Anairë complemented themselves by dancing, almost too much for the taste of Míriel's son.

With determination, Fëanor took a step toward the center of the room.

 

The Grand Prince felt the looks of those present. For five days he had heard the most ridiculous gossip about the scandal caused by Nerdanel, which had only contributed to his bad mood. Ever since Fëanor was surprised in bed with Anairë - who laughed so much that Elenwë had to give him water because he was drowned - until he himself was the one caught in the middle of a sexual act with his half-brother - which was almost the truth. Fingolfin had heard versions in which Anairë was found being possessed by both brothers at once, others in which Fëanor was the one possessed by Fingolfin, others in which he penetrated his wife while being taken by his half-brother ... people’s imagination never stopped surprising him. However, far from imagining the gossipers that it was not the fact of serving as food for the rumors that angered the Grand Prince of Tirion.

"Do you plan to talk to him at some point?"

Fingolfin looked down at the inquisitive eyes of his children's mother and shrugged. Both had noticed the arrival of Fëanor a few minutes before: Anairë by the shudder that shook her husband's broad shoulders.

"After."  
"After what, Arakáno?" She pouted, squeezing her red lips like a rose. "It's been five days since you look like a caged tiger and I'd rather not stand you one more night. It's not that I have you near often; but you know that as soon as the Festival ends, your brother will return to his 'fortress' and lock himself up like an ogre until you go looking for him. This is a bullshit…"  
"It is not," he replied through clenched teeth.  
"Well, you should clarify it to Fëanor. Clarify what the problem is. "

The piece concluded and Fingolfin bowed before his wife, ready to wait for the beginning of the next piece, since he did not intend to dance with anyone else that night. When he stood up, he found his half-brother’s diamond-like eyes.

 

For a moment, Fingolfin stood motionless, watching Fëanor so close that he could see the slight crease between his eyebrows.

After a second - in which the son of Indis was aware of the looks of everyone weighing on them like swords who wanted to open their breasts and dissect their secrets - Fingolfin looked at a point over the shoulder of his half-brother.

"What are you doing?" He inquired barely audibly.  
"I hope you grant me a dance," declared Fëanor firmly, extending a hand between them.

Fingolfin looked down at the elegant fingers. He could remember how that hand felt on his skin. He could even feel the ghost of the rubbing of the calluses produced by the tools in the most sensitive parts of his body. Slowly, he raised a hand and dropped it into his brother's.

The first chord announced the start of the next piece and Fingolfin frowned. That was not…

 

_You won't admit you love me  
And so how am I ever to know?_

 

Fingolfin tensed when Fëanor pulled him and wrapped his other arm around his waist, sticking him to his body.

"Curufinwë!" He roared through his teeth in warning.  
"Have not you ever danced this kind of music, Nolvo?", raised an eyebrow the older, guiding him across the room without taking him away from his body.

Of course he had danced it, with his wife!

Fingolfin would have wanted to hit Fëanor. Did not he feel the way his thighs and hips brushed? The clothes they both wore, tight and totally contrary to the broad elven tunics, did little to disguise the effect that closeness was having on them. Fingolfin clenched his teeth and concentrated on controlling his breathing and blood, letting his brother take care of the complicated dance steps.

"Are not you going to talk to me again?"

Fingolfin kept his eyes fixed beyond Fëanor's shoulder.

"About what? It was you who said that if I left I could forget about ... "  
"And of course, you took my word", growled the Crown Prince. "I've sent you six messages since ..."  
"Findekáno told me."  
"And you did not even consider answering me?"  
"And tell you what?"

 

_A million times I've asked you_  
_And then I ask you over again_  
_You only answer_  
_Perhaps perhaps perhaps_  


 

Fëanor took a step back, letting Fingolfin go. For a second, both were united only by their hands, staring at each other. At last, Fëanor tugged at his fingers and Fingolfin followed the impulse to be caught in the circle of the older man's arms, turning on his heels at the last moment.

Fingolfin's back pressed against Fëanor's chest. The hands of the craftsman descended through the forearms of his partner to lean slightly on the hips. Even through the velvet, Fingolfin felt the fire of those fingers that knew every secret from him. Fëanor leaned close until his breath touched the ear adorned with a feather attached to a sapphire bead.

_So if you really love me  
Say yes but if you don't, dear, confess_

 

Fingolfin shuddered inwardly, fighting against the instinct to close his eyes and abandon himself to Fëanor's fire.

"Is your image so important?"

Fëanor's voice caressed his ear and neck while his hands forced him to move with him, marking the bars of the song that a female voice sang with coquetry.

"You don’t even have an idea ..."  
"Are they more important than me?" Insisted Fëanor, interrupting his half-brother’s response. "Your beloved subjects: are they more important than me? After all these years, are they worth more than I in your heart? I have been the one who has held you in my arms. It's me who knows you best, Nolofinwë. I would never abandon you because of simple rumors ... "  
"Rumors that are based on the truth, Curufinwë," Fingolfin replied angrily, turning between his hands to face him. "Did not Nerdanel break into your rooms?"  
"A scandal is enough to destroy years of loving us like ..."  
"Secretly!" Fingolfin roared. "A secret that you yourself established for the sake of Father. Father, who would never have accepted our relationship if it had not been for my mother. Am I the one who endangered this ...? "

He broke off, breathing hard.

They had stopped dancing and stood facing each other, as if they were ready to fight. Around them, the dancers slowed down and a faint murmur began to overshadow the music.

"Are you putting an end to this?" Frowned Fëanor.

Fingolfin watched him without moving, clenching a fist at his side.

 

_If you can't make your mind up  
We'll never get started_

 

The voice of the singer made the son of Indis react, who took a breath and chewed on his lower lip, declared at last:

"Nerdanel, Curufinwë. It was Nerdanel, your wife, who made a fuss. "

 

Without waiting for his brother's response, Fingolfin turned and took off in long strides.

Fëanor's silvery eyes followed obstinately the turqui back that went away between the people ... until Anairë was interposed in his line of vision.

 

"Brother-in-law," the lady greeted with a broad smile.  
"Anairë," he grumbled, making a gesture to pass by her side.  
"Are you going to chase him around the palace?" She asked, amused. "Personally, I would recommend that you do it; but...! Before you do, can you clear a doubt up? "  
"Does it have to do with him?"  
"Of course, Fëanáro. These days, everything has to do with him, "she smiled mischievously. "So, can you explain me what Nerdanel was doing in your bedroom? I mean, I know she was your wife ... but the 'was' is the key to the matter, right? You're still separated, right? "

Fëanor frowned, not understanding the question.

"What a stupid thing…?"  
"The same one that your brother thought when your children's mother made a scandal to meet you," Anairë responded with an air of self-assurance. "Maybe it's not Arakáno who needs to clear his mind."

 

_And I don't wanna wind up_  
_Being parted, broken hearted_  
_So if you really love me_  
_Say yes but if you don't, dear, confess_  
_And please don't tell me_  
_Perhaps perhaps perhaps_

 

Fëanor did not move as the last chords of the song sounded, staring wide-eyed at his sister-in-law's mischievous expression - the same expression Fingon had when he was doing one of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that is playing while Fëanor and Fingolfin are dancing is 'Perhaps perhaps perhaps', by the Cuban composer Osvaldo Farrés. To write the chapter, I used the version sung by Doris Day (I recommend it) And yes, I know it has nothing to do with Romeo and Juliet and Shakespeare, and so on ... but it's one of my favorite songs and I could not help imagine these two dancing it very much like a tango XD


	7. 6

Fingolfin rolled on the bed and moaned when the light hit him straight in the face. He cursed under his breath as he searched for the pillow to cover his head; but before he reached it, the bedroom door opened and a few light footsteps hurried to the bed.

"Grandpa!" Shrieked a sing-song voice as the girl clutched the sheets and pulled insistently. "Wake up, grandpa! Today is the day of the ball and Aunt Irissë says that she will give us a very special news. "

Fingolfin wished he was still asleep. He still could not believe that his daughter - in the eyes of all still single - had decided to announce her pregnancy in front of the whole Court. Well, that was going to divert attention from the Fëanor affair for a few days, to Finwë's reassurance. 

"I know, Itarildë," murmured the prince. "How come you're not tired? You were dancing late last night. "  
"I got up early because I dreamed about Aunt Irissë's baby. She’s going to have a baby, right? "  
"If the Valar want," answered Fingolfin. And if Curufinwë turns out to be as impetuous as his father, surely more than one.

Thinking about his half-brother sharpened the prince’s headache, who closed his eyes.

Looking at it in retrospect, Anairë was right: there was no way Fëanor knew that what really displeased him about the situation was that Nerdanel behaved as if she had rights over him. I mean, did she have them or not? Was it or not Fëanor's wife?

A year ago, Fëanor had sworn that his marriage was over. It was not the first time that the son of Míriel and his wife separated and after a few months, Nerdanel returned to Formenos and settled down again as a lady of the house. Fingolfin, therefore, did not give much credit to his brother's words; but, on that occasion, Fëanor swore time and again that there was no going back, that he did not need anyone more than him to be happy and that if Finwë allowed it, the next day they would be living together, above all. After so many years, Fëanor had managed to get Fingolfin back to hope for the two of them.

Fingolfin had never confessed it; but during the beginning of their relationship - when he was too young and still naive - he had hoped that Fëanor would leave Nerdanel and choose to defy the laws and the world to be with him. Only with him.

When Finwë discovered the nature of the relationship between them, it became clear to Fingolfin that his older brother would not do anything to affect his father. Finwë demanded discretion - and that only after Indis threatened to leave if he dared to ban the relationship. To this day, Fëanor had never protested the order of the High King. Nor Fingolfin, who since childhood had become accustomed to being the one who followed while Fëanor was the one who led. 

Maybe he should have protested at some point.  
Fëanor had interpreted his reaction as provoked by the worry of being involved in a scandal. What scandal could be worse than suspecting that he had been cheated for more than a year? By of the person he loved the most?

Anairë was right: he had to talk to his brother and confess the real reason for his displeasure. Tell him that he was jealous until he was not able to look at his face without wanting to shout helplessly. But that would be later, when the Festival ended, when he would be able to speak without feeling the rage biting his insides, when he did not want to tear off Nerdanel's head - which would have been liberating; but not the best way to get the freedom he craved.

"Grandpaaaaaa!"

Fingolfin suppressed a sigh and returned the attention to his granddaughter. Turgon's daughter watched him with raised eyebrows, waiting for his answer.

"What?" Fingolfin asked, confused.  
"Mom says that since today is the last day of the Festival, surely grandfather Fëanáro will use the silmarils and we will be able to see them. Do you think he use them? I’ve never seen the silmarils. "

 

Fingolfin pouted. As if he did not have enough to think about, his family would like to be close to Fëanor to enjoy the beauty of the _blessed_ silmarils. And, at what moment had Idril started calling Fëanor 'grandfather'?

 

It was midmorning when Fingolfin got Idril back to his quarters so he could get up and start the day. Since it was the last day of the Festival, he had no job to take care of, so his only concern was to choose what he would use that night. Although it did not really matter much: once Fëanor appeared wearing his famous jewels, no one else would be noticed.

Despite that, Fingolfin noticed that his entire family was excited about choosing the jewelry they would wear - especially Idril, who for the first time would be allowed to be at the dance until midnight. After eating with his children and listening to a new version of the event with Nerdanel and Fëanor (it would be surprising if they did not get a zarzuela for the New Year), the prince retired to his rooms to choose his clothes for the party.

When it was time to select the jewels, Fingolfin scattered the contents of the chests on the bed, trying to find a single garment that had not been made by his half-brother. When he was convinced that it was an impossible task, since Fëanor had made every jewel he used since he was an infant, he was taken out of his abstraction by a knock on the door.

At his command, a page entered carrying a wooden box carved in relief. Attached to the box was a note.  
Fingolfin recognized the letter at a glance and dismissed the boy, convinced that Fëanor had not been able to resist giving him new jewels for the Festival. As every year.

_Use them. Please._

Only that said the note and Fingolfin hesitated a moment, moved by the request. With a sigh, he lifted the lid of the casket ... and almost dropped it to the ground, stunned.

 

The last night of the Midwinter Festival was dedicated to showcasing the new wonders that Elven travelers would encounter during their visit to Middle-earth that year. Exact replicas of works of art, mechanical artifacts, chemical experiments, detailed drawings of the bacteria and microorganisms that humans claimed to have inside them ... and dozens of other wonders were displayed throughout the Hall of the Two Trees. Some of the exhibits were so surprising that they made the elves retreat in bewilderment; others were of disconcerting ingenuity for a race that had been walking the earth for millennia. What was most striking this year was the artifact to fly.

Fëanor was a few steps away from the scale model of the 'famed' airplane. From his point of view, it was too heavy to be lifted in the air and even if the elf who brought it explained, he could not convince himself that in that thing it would be possible to transport people if it were in its real size.

Several members of the Academy questioned the young Ingolmo, who blushed and restarted the explanations, eventually inviting the skeptics to visit Endor with him on his next trip and see it with their own eyes.

Inwardly, Fëanor considered that maybe that was a good idea: to travel to Endor. After all, it was already fifteen years since his last visit to human lands.

"Hard to believe, huh? May men and elves fly like the eagles of Manwë. "

Fëanor blinked slightly as he half turned to Nerdanel.

"Hard to understand. At least for us, we do not take much care of mechanics. "  
"That's more of Dwarfs. The words of Power prevent us from seeking more ... material solutions, "she admitted.  
"But also more challenging," he raised an eyebrow and with a contained sigh, he left the group gathered near the airplane.

He barely took a few steps and noticed that Nerdanel was following him, stopping at his side when they reached the table with the drinks.

"What do you want, Nerdanel?" He demanded with annoyance. "Haven’t you done enough this week?"  
"I? Have I done enough? Are you sure you want to have this conversation here? "  
"I'm sure I don’t want to have this conversation. I don’t even know why you insist ... "  
"Oh, it's not easy for a woman to discover that they've been cheating on her all her life. In her very noses. "  
"You always knew I had ... lovers."  
"I never imagined that your shame was such, Fëanáro. Your own brother. " She made a gesture of incomprehension and rejection. "You know? I tried to convince myself that it wasn’t you; but he who took the first step. I want to believe that I got to know you something in all these years, that the father of my children is not ... this being capable of ... "  
"It was me," declared Fëanor, without getting upset. "It was I who kissed him for the first time. I was the one who clung to his body and did not let him go. Of course Nolvo did not resist much, "he smiled, evoking how willing his half-brother was to follow his guidance in this as in everything. "He knew it would have been useless to resist."

Nerdanel watched him with wide eyes, stunned by his lack of shame. It was evident that Fëanor did not regret what happened between the two of them.

"They can banish you for that," she suggested in a small voice.  
"Not if we leave before. We can be free. Nolofinwë and me. After today, we will be free. "

Mathan's daughter frowned. After today? What was Fëanor talking about?

"What do you mean?". Curiosity was stronger than common sense.

Fëanor smiled like a mischievous child and shrugged.

"You'll see." Immediately, the expression of joy transformed into one of apprehension. "Of course, that will be if Nolvo accepts my request."  
"You go…? Are you going to ask him in front of everyone? "  
"I've already done it. He will be the one to answer me in front of everyone. "

Nerdanel watched him warily, trying to read behind the playful expression of Míriel's son. After a few seconds, she took a step toward him, extending a hand.

"We are on time, Fëanáro," she murmured. "We can forget all this, all this ... madness. We have so much that -We have children, seven children, for Varda! And grandchildren. We have built a family, a home ... Why let a whim, a ... a ... a passion destroy our lives? "

Fëanor blinked repeatedly, surprised.

"Nerdanel ..."  
"Nolofinwë will never make that decision. He never…"

Nerdanel shook her head, wanting to form the words that would break Fëanor's heart, that would shatter his hopes. But the words refused to come out: she had listened to Anairë, she had seen the need in Fingolfin's blue eyes - a need that until then she did not know how to identify ...

"He does not ...", she tried once more; but before she could formulate the phrase, a flutter went through the elves gathered in the room.

Fëanor and Nerdanel turned at the same time in the direction of the door.

Finwë, on the throne on the platform, made a move to stand; but Indis's hand on his forearm held him back.

The sons of Fëanor, grouped on the side of his grandfather's throne, stirred, making their surprise clear.

Aredhel frowned and crossed her arms under the generous bust, muttering:  
"Hells! Now nobody will pay attention to my surprise. "  
"That's not such a surprise, dear little sister," Fingon assured, flipping one of her ears.  
"But that is." Turgon raised an eyebrow, shaking his head.

 

Fëanor crossed the room. The guests moved aside instinctively, since everyone's eyes were fixed on the elf who had just arrived. The Crown Prince stopped in front of his half-brother and smiled triumphantly.  
"I suppose," he began; "this is your answer."

Fingolfin looked him straight in the eyes, raising an eyebrow like jet.

"This has always been my answer, Curufinwë," he replied simply. "So, you give me back the sin you took from my lips, brother of mine?"

Fëanor breathed heavily before bending down to claim the lips of his brother, whose beautiful blue eyes, bright as stars, dimmed even the light of the silmarils crowning him.


	8. Extra

Maeglin heard the sound of the door opening and closing; but he did not turn around. Instead, he continued working on molding the piece of metal as if nothing had happened.  
His visitor took a few short walks through the forge, stopping in front of the table with the jewels designed by Celebrimbor and then addressing the daggers hanging on the wall. Finally, they got tired of keeping quiet and went around the anvil to be included in Maeglin's radius of vision.

"Are you going to be here all day?"

Aredhel's son looked up only just enough to see the green and silver hem of his cousin's dress: did she never dress appropriately to come to the forge?

"I’m working."  
"You are a prince, Lómion," Idril snorted. "You don’t need to work."  
"I like to work."  
"You’re boring."  
"And you're going to dirty your dress. Again."

Maeglin could feel his cousin's blue eyes drilling holes in his head.

"You're impossible. Like your father, "Idril complained, moving away from him. "I came to share my happiness with you and you behave like an unpleasant one."  
"Happiness, dear cousin? Have you committed yourself at last to the young human? "

Even as he asked the question carelessly, Maeglin felt his chest tighten painfully. The fascination of the young human Tuor for Turgon's daughter and Idril's curiosity for the blond and bearded mortal had gone unnoticed by anyone in the Court. Many suspected that the second marriage between elves and mortals was about to take place after hundreds of years.

"Not yet," replied Idril with the same tone that she would have rejected a pastry. Maeglin let out the air slowly and went back to work. "They chose me for this year's play."  
"I see," nodded his cousin.

From the Festival in which Fëanor and Fingolfin declared their love publicly, the elves had changed the theatrical tradition, allowing the females to take part in the performances.

Of course Maeglin did not remember that (he was in his mother's womb when it happened); but the whole family - both families - told the stories of that Midwinter every year: the magnificent performance of Fingon, the scandal of Nerdanel, the rumors, Fingolfin wearing the silmarils - the only one who used them since then, by the way -, Aredhel announcing immediately after the whole Court that was waiting for the son of Curufin ... An unforgettable Festival, without doubts.

 

"Do you even know which the play is?" Asked Idril, frowning at his lack of interest.

The young man shrugged.

"The Taming of the Shrew," she reported proudly.  
"Bianca then?"

Idril frowned and kicked the floor impatiently.

"Katharina, fool! I'm the protagonist! "  
"You are the shrew," he replied, turning around and raising his eyebrows. "I would not have believed it. You lack ... bad temper. You're too sweet, dear cousin. "

Idril snorted, furious and turned on the spot.

"I'll show you that I can be a shrew like any other! Better than any other! " She shouted as she left the forge amid the commotion of her embroidered skirts.

Maeglin went back to work, wondering if he should have told Idril that he would play Petruchio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to remind you: the first marriage between elves and humans in this story is Caranthir / Haleth.
> 
> And in this version, Maeglin is son of Curufin and brother of Celebrimbor.
> 
>  
> 
> I do believe that Idril will be a magnificent shrew.

**Author's Note:**

> * From 'Romeo & Juliet', from Shakespeare.


End file.
